Afraid
by witheringrosey
Summary: The world was a twisted place and he got caught in it. Young and lost, Carl tries to pick up the pieces after he and his father are separated after the prison breach. Determined, the fourteen year old vows to never stop looking until he finds him. Along the way, though, he forgets himself, but there are other who are willing to help him.
1. Chapter 1: A Dangerous Game

After putting in some thought, Carl believed he was better off like this; _alone_.

That way, it was just one person, singular; unattached, that ensured no indescribable pain when he loses someone so close to him.

Most of all it was about responsibility.

His father, for one, was an example.

A man _he_ put so much faith in, who _everyone_ put so much faith in, but time and time again, he failed. _Especially_ when they needed him the _most_.

And in doing so, his mother, Judith, Michonne, Daryl, Beth, Hershel, Maggie, Glenn, everyone.

 _Even Shane_.

All of them lost their lives.

They were just sitting ducks, waiting idly as The Governor came, ruining what could have been home. All because his father wanted to continue being what he couldn't afford to do; _play the farmer_.

He remembers the Prison's final moments so vividly, the arrival of the Governor, the death of Hershel, the array of bullets, and chaos that erupted afterwards. However, the one thing that rung so _clearly_ was his father's speech and how wrong he was.

He was too far gone.

Carl had remembered the grisly details of how he searched through the burning fields for his father, only to find the moans and groans of people dying or being eaten and Judith's bloody car seat, he tried to continue to look for Michonne, Daryl, Carol, Beth, Glenn, Maggie, anyone and almost died because he had refused to believe that everything could crumble so easily to shit after a split second of happiness.

And that was the problem, they were not prepared and it hit them _so hard_.

Carl had known the fallacy of trying to piece together this new world with the shadow of the old one, it was the reason so many people like his father had died, it will be the reason they will continue to do so.

He, for one, finally knew through the repercussions of others, that in this brutal and lawless place where the walking dead was the least of your concerns, you cannot obtain concord, because there will never be one. The repulsive human nature would not allow one to, at least not in his lifetime.

That is why he chose to be everything his father could not. Where his father failed, he would succeed.

Carl watched his step as he walked carefully down the steep hill, trying not to step on any twigs or leaves, remaining as silent as possible to not give away his position as he crotched behind and a tree, his feet gently brushing across the underbrush as he did so.

The only thing that guided him through the thick black veil of the night, was the warm light of a crackling fire that stood only a few feet away. His breath was ragged but quiet as he stared at the men around the flickering flames.

A single drop of sweat cascaded down his forehead, skin rough and bumpy from the humid air. His dingy long sleeved stuck to his wet chest, the designs barley traceable due to it being caked with dried mud. As he took in the surroundings, he could feel the dark circles caving into his eyes and it made him wonder how long he has been without sleep.

His lips were pressed tightly together and he could feel the cracked skin that begged for water to touch and nurture them. In his pocket was only one granola bar, the only thing he could manage to salvage, his stomach not even close to being full, the hunger gnawing at him and with the water supply he had was completely drained, leaving him victim to the summer's heat, he felt more and more anxious to get what he needed done.

The five men roared loudly as they conversed with each other, their malicious faces and ridged features illuminated by the fires light, uncaring to the things around them. How could they not? their camp was secured by a string of barbed wire lining across the trees around their small clearing, their supplies filled with things they stole from _others_.

He looked around, taking in his surrounding and being alert by any walker's that were brought there from the obnoxious sound. When he was certain of there being no threat, his eyes returned to the camp.

Carl remained still behind the thin bushes that kept him camouflaged in the hot night air. His fingers twitched in anticipation as he waited in silence; eyes darting for an opening.

From the corner of his eye, Carl catches a single black duffel bag - _his_ duffel bag - resting behind a tall, gnarly looking man, his stringy auburn hair stuck together in greasy clumps. The boy looks at the hunting knife in his hand, carefully grazing the sharp end against his fingertip before pressing down slightly.

The small pain felt good, it was a relief of some sort as he did it as it also became a way to keep him steady and awake, slowly turning into a habit, whether it be pricking his finger or placing light cuts across his ankles and arms - it showed him he was still alive.

He stares intently at the small trail of red liquid that trickles down his finger, and he sharply exhales, feeling his senses clear, even if just for a moment before gripping the knife's handle with a shaking and bloody hand.

He had been following them for two days now, just waiting patiently for a chance to strike and take game.

He planned and coordinated, waiting for a right place and time to strike and take back what was _rightfully_ his.

Carl's hand tapped against the gun that was holstered to his hips, there were only two bullets left, and from what he had studied, he could not take on the other three.

He moves from his crouching position as he sauntered closer to the site as the men were occupied with something else. He stared at them intensely as he made his move, he recalls barely making it out _unscathed_ as they took what was his, nearly killing him in the process, but his eyes were mostly trained the long-haired and greasy man that he harbored raving hatred for.

Carl makes it around their camp, hidden in a blanket of thick trees, backing farther away until they were completely covered by the forest and only little rays of light pervaded through the leaves.

He goes about unnoticed as they dig into the cans of beans with silver spoons as a bucket of water boils over their makeshift stove.

He sheathed his knife before he pulled out a rope from his backpack, eyes scanning for a single Walker; within a few minutes, he found one not too far away, standing still, looking into a void in it's stupor, wearing nothing but a dirty and ripped nightgown.

Seeing them like this is what truly instilled fear, they look human, but not quite. Only a haunting empty shell of what they were, completely unaware of their existence and it's nihility; it made him wonder, will he too become one of the walking dead?.

He took a deep breath, thankfully, it's back was facing him. He carefully moved a few inches closer before lurching forward, wrapping the rope around its chest and it released a yelp in confusion and hunger. Tying it into a quick knot and to quiet its excessive growling, he removed a cloth from his back pocket, placing it on its mouth, blocking its chomping teeth.

Carl got ahold of the end of the rope, pulling the corpse towards him and brought it to a nearby tree, using the remaining length to tightly tie around it.

He examined it for a moment as it continued to thrash about mindlessly, hungry for flesh with it's wide and yellow rotting eyes, with grey hair that sparsely filled it's head and had patches of its scalp missing which also was falling apart.

It was causing too much noise, more than he'd like to take a chance with.

As he looked around the forest floor, he found a thick wooden branch and picked it up, reminding him of the time he played baseball, and as the leaves under the Walker's feet continued to crunch as it moved, it gave him an immediate idea; so, with a swift and hard swing to it's left leg, the weak bone broke effortlessly with a sickening _crack._

It crumbled to the floor, unable to sustain its own weight, again, he whacked it's right leg, starting at the knees, completely disabling it.

The only thing it could do now rapidly moved its head from left to right, desperate for prey it could not have.

Carl sighed and began to walk toward his previous location, but before he could fully do so, his ears caught the rustling of bushes from one of the entrances of the camp, stumbling out was a man who was tall, lanky, and more importantly, drunk.

He quickly crept back into the darkness before the man saw him, making so that Carl could see him, but the other could not.

The man, unbeknownst to any danger, unzipped his pants and pissed, sighing in relief as he did so.

He would have preferred it be the beer-gutted fuck, but he supposed it was now or never to take a target.

He disregarded the wooden stick, finding immense pleasure in what he was going to do next.

Carl walked closer and closer before he ran for him, getting the man off-guard, placing a hand over his mouth and before he could react, the boy grabbed his knife hiding in his leather belt, plunging it into the man's back, more specifically, the spine.

The man's upper torso jerked forward and with the palm calmed over his mouth, Carl could feel the wet substance of saliva from the man's scream.

With precision, he could tell what was happening at each exact moment.

The mans leg's went slack, unable to hold it's upper body.

 _Paralyzed from the waist down._

Carl twisted the knife, hearing the squishing sound of the blade displacing flesh, but he could feel, through the handle, the weapon lodged between the spinal cord.

 _Dead_.

He had trouble holding the body up, almost falling over as the man went limp. He hurried up before his friends had noticed and placed him on the floor and begun to drag him to where the walker was tied.

It was a grueling task and the man was heavier than he looked, also, with the lack of food and sleep, it felt like he was going to fall over and pass out from exhaustion.

Eventually, Carl laid the body down, breathing heavily and feeling sick from the hollow feeling in his belly being and felt like he was on the verge of vomiting. Wiping his wet hands on his pants, he looked down, taking in a deep breath.

He removed the cloth from its mouth and went back to the man, pulling him from his collar and brought him closer to the rotting corpse, removing the cloth as he did so.

It's teeth clicked as Carl held the man's neck high enough for its black teeth to dig in to. After he was done, he pulled the man away, curling his lip as he watched the walker's teeth hold on tightly, stretching the skin, revealing the red meat inside and causing blood to ooze everywhere.

Carl searched every inch of the man, not finding any ammo or anything useful, looking through every small pocket of the leather jacket, however, in his jeans was a glass bottle with a brown liquid called _Hennessy_.

He took off his hat, scratching the scalp inside his brown curls as he picked up the half drunken bottle. He yanked it open and he jumped from the loud ' _pop!'_ , he quickly took a sip and grimaced as it went through his throat, burning it. He couldn't contain the coughed that irritated his esophagus and placed his sleeve over his mouth as he wiped his wet lips.

" _Hey, Wren_?." A deep, throaty voice called out, the sound of crunching leaves as footsteps approach catch his ears, making it Carl's cue to leave.

The boy hurried and closed the cap, dropping it next to the deceased man and cut the rope holding down the corpse loose and took it with him, dashing further into the woods.

When he feels that he has gotten far enough, he looks back, seeing nothing but faint light and hearing the other man call for his friends.

He smiles placidly, feeling accomplished as he watches the men gather around the dead body.

 _ **One down, four more to go.**_

He knew he could do better on his own.


	2. Chapter 2: Means to an End

_Carl did not dream_ , he hadn't done so for a long while, longer than he could even count, but for the first time, sleep graced him pleasantly, even if it was a swirling pool of nothingness - it didn't matter though, it was the feeling of success that satisfied him.

He looked from the bushes ahead of him, watching the men before him, maybe it was because they were drunk or they didn't care, they did not find the stab wound and with the bitten neck and the growling walker, they must have taken it as it looked. From a few yards away, Carl watched as they packed their things, leaving the corpse to rot. A few hours ago he turned and they hadn't bothered to put him down, instead they took pleasure in trying him to a tree, taking his bottle of liquor with them.

The boy peeled off the wrapper of the granola bar, nibbling off a few pieces to keep him going, savoring the chocolate bits and sweet taste it made on his tongue.

It was more dangerous to stalk them during the daylight, but the more exhilarating, the better. He waited, putting enough distance to not be caught, but not to lose them. He makes his move passing by the tied up and freshly turned Walker, taking a moment to stop and stare. It's eyes were yellow, like the other corpse lying on the ground next to it, it's face pale as it continued to bite hungrily into the air, waiting for a catch.

He unsheathed his knife, carefully pinpointing the blade's edge into it's forehead, watching it's once rabid movements go limp. Permanent death. Carl lets the group of men go on farther before he moves a muscle, wiping his stained knife with a rag from his pocket as he followed closely behind. Life alone was easy, to say the least, it should have happened sooner.

The sun rises higher from the horizon with each passing minute, the once blue and pink hues of the sky was beginning to fade away, slowly being overcome with the orange color of the big ball of gas. His throat tightens as he walks along further as they begged for just a _taste_ of water, making sure to remain hidden from the sight, but it didn't seem to much of a problem though, they were heavily immersed with their loud ramblings of their victories and all Carl could do was glare, but he soon smirked when he visualized them all dead and his things all returned to him.

They soon make a turn for the road, leaving the forest and Carl hid behind a tree and everything was silent except for the rumbling of what he had presumed to be motorcycles, his head snaps into the direction and from what he had caught with his two eyes was three of them zooming pass.

" _Fuck_." One of the men yelled after a while.

" _You think that's them_?." Another asks.

As no one answers, Carl couldn't help but wonder what shook them so deeply, it doesn't stay on his mind long as he continues on, seeing how they start moving, this time at a more faster pace, completely neglecting their plan to start a course on the road. They go on like this, shaking in their boots as they persisted through the seemingly endless trees and Carl could feel himself slowly exhaust as from what he could guess, was about two hours of walking in the blazing heat, his throat barley letting any air for him to fill his lungs, he eventually goes through half of the only source of food left.

His eyes were trained on the black duffel bag slung over one of the men's shoulder, using it as motivation to keep going when his wobbly legs felt like it couldn't.

The prayers he had desperately whispered in the many nights of peril had seemed to be answered, as the men in front of him walked further, one of them exclaimed of seeing a street full of buildings just up a hill, they haul themselves up, scampering to the town in front of them. Carl quickly follows close behind, waiting a few moments before crawling his way up, just taking a peak to see how far they went and through the grass, he watched them approaching the first thing in their lane of vision, a store.

Carl waited until they were inside before he hurried up the hill, making sure to be out of their sight, he took the opposite direction of the shop, taking the long way around to a place what he guessed was the back entrance, the specific building was blocked by two dumpsters, but he quickly got over them, reaching the backdoor. Just as he did so, his plan was set in motion, the wooden door opens, and he's already behind it, sucking in his breath as the surface nearly inches away from his face. He does not waste any time as he pushed away the door, in front of the man's back, which of whom was scratching the back of his neck, index and middle finger holding a cigarette, he does not get to enjoy it any longer as the boy was now behind him, blade at hand, grabbing a fistful of hair, yanking it with all his might toward him before wrapping his forearm around the man's face, squeezing tight.

In a quick second, Carl gazes at the man with a fleeting smile, catching a glimpse of the bud fall out of his mouth, bringing the knife to his neck, piercing skin, then, Carl's hand jerked back, the man could only let out a muffled gasps as his fingers scrambled to the wound trying to breath through the blood, desperately looking for a way to stop the bleeding, but the attempts were in vain as after a few moments, all movements completely stopped.

This one was just as big as the other, and Carl hadn't found that out until the body tipped against him, pushing all of it's weight onto him, bringing him to the ground with it. He manages to move slightly away, but it didn't stop the impact his back made with the concrete below him. Carl's breath is stolen from him, the air leaves his lips in a sharp gasp and his heart races, seconds go by and he coughs, inhaling what was taken from him. He sits up, grimacing at the feeling of his sore back before getting up.

He goes over to the corpse who's green eyes stared blankly at the sky above, hands forever clenching the slit throat as blood continued to be poured onto the cracked alley floor, Carl searched all over the body, angrily kicking away a small can when he couldn't find anything useful, only coming across a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pulls out a single one, placing the rest in his back pocket and brought out the lighter, cupping his hand next to it as he set it alight, slowly letting the fumes enter his nose and lungs. He couldn't contain it, giving out a loud cough. He scowled, holding it between his index finger and thumb, hurrying away from the scene, eventually throwing away the thin cylinder.

When he's far enough, he can hear the hollering and he instinctively put his fingertips on the trigger of his gun as he rest his back on the brick side of a nearby building. He pulls back the hammer once he hears a sharp report in the air, mind alert to his surroundings as he tries to keep still and remembers how many bullets are left on the gun, replaying how many of _them_ were left. He had taken down two, only three more to go. Carl hurries up along the rigid surface of the edifice until he reaches the corner, he looks back as he hears another shot ring in the air, and in that split second he collides into something, its pushes him back and onto the floor, the impact caused his reflexes to kick in and his finger holding the trigger pulled back, the sound that followed was deafening.

The ringing in his ears grew more intense as seconds passed, his vision beginning to blur, it wasn't until a few moments later that it returned he had noticed the man standing stiff in front of him. Carl blinked, staring up at the ragged jeans and the stained white t-shirt to the rigid face of a man's mouth hung wide open, showing the rotten and missing teeth beneath the flesh. The stringy hair on the man's hair was held together in clumps by grease, Carl had recognized him.

Blood was now becoming visible on the man's shirt, at his waist a patch of red was growing bigger, the fabric ripped as the bullet from the gun scraped past. _Shit._ Carl gets up as he hears the other men speaking aloud not to far away.

"Ah, _fuck_ , you little bitch!." The man chortles, hands clasped against the wound he received before gazing back to Carl, eyes attentive before staring at the boy, moments passing agonizingly by as realization flickered in dead eyes, a smiling etching onto his face, " _I remember you_." The boy can only think about making a run for it, but the options were limited, he could not go back and risk running into two armed men, but as he noticed the gun holstered to the man's hip, he decided to make best of the last bullet. Carl jumps to his shaky feet, but the man was already onto him, his meaty hands caught the teen's shoulders, grabbing onto them incredibly tight, so much so the boy yelped in pain.

Carl jerked up his knees, aiming at the shin, attempting to disarm the man, however, he did not budge, only laughing. The boy shook and writhed against the grip, desperate to get out, but everything seemed hopeless, but as he could hear a voice echo from afar, his instincts kicked in. Without thinking, his head lurched forward, knocking against the greasy forehead of another. That seemed to detach the man and he loosens his hold his grip, allowing for Carl to break away. With nimble fingers, Carl brought the hammer of the gun back, then pulled the trigger.

He aimed for the head and the droplets of red splattered to his face and he grimaced, wiping the away the blood and ripped the gun from the man's belt, dropping his old one and quickly turned the corner before the last two could find him. The voice became louder and Carl sped up his pace, eventually taking shelter in a nearby shop.

 ** _Norma's_** ** _Pastry_**

Carl opened the glass door and almost jumped by the loud bell ringing as he did so. Slowly, he entered the shop and held his breath, a fowl odor caught in his nose, the feeling of nausea erupting within him. To try and cope, he removed a cloth from his back pocket, placing it over his mouth and walked in, shutting the door behind him. The floor beneath him creaked with every step he took and his legs tingled with his heart beating hard against his rib cage. Everything in the shop was rotting, from the floor below him to the pastry showcased in glass containers. Carl towards to the back door of the store, opening it and entering a backroom stocked with spoiled food, which sent an even stronger smell and he couldn't help but cough in disgust, but he was made alert when he heard indistinct yelling from outside the shop, without thinking, Carl headed out the last door quickly, hurrying over fallen items like boxes and foods. As he opened the door, he was met with the back of someone else and he jumped back, the person before him head snapped in his direction, eyes wild.

In the lanky man's hand was a knife, edge sharp for flesh. Carl doesn't have time to react as the man is already going at him, knife in for a target; his chest, but with quick reflexes, he manage to doge a fatal wound, but that did not stop the weapon from entering his body, only a few inches from his heart, the knife was plunged into shoulder. The boy cried out in pain and lost his footing and fell, removing the knife from his shoulder. He landed on his back, his body vibrating and throbbing in intense stabs. Carl's head shot up to the man standing over him, in his hand was the knife, once silver and shined, now covered and dripping in red.

The boy did not waste anytime bring out the pistol and letting out fire, shooting the man before he could do anymore harm. Carl watched as the body went limp into a heap onto the floor, the knife along with it. He groaned, clasping a hand to the wound before getting up, no doubt in his mind that the last one heard the shot and he'd be there any moment. Carl walked in a slouch stance and he could feel himself becoming more and more strained, and to put the icing on the cake, he heard the ringing of the front door's bell and a familiar voice.

"Russel?."

Carl quickly positions himself, aiming his gun at the door, despite the strain it put on his arms as he hid behind a shelf of storage boxes, he waited as the footsteps approached agonizingly slowly. The person behind the door spoke in an unsteady voice, speaking the dead man's name again, "Russel, are you there?."

Taking a time to assess the situation, Carl listened in carefully and when he had heard the man was close enough, he had fired. There was a thud and utter silence, making the boy feel queasy as his hand found it's way onto his injured shoulder, as much as he didn't want to, he had to look outside; seeing as the other two men he had killed didn't had his belongings with them, he came to the conclusion that the one behind the door must of had it in his possession. Sucking in a deep breath of air and clutching his wound tightly, Carl held the gun with his bloody hand as he sauntered closer to the door, trying to move as silently as possible, however, the door broke open, emerging from the other side was tall and unshaven man.

Carl backed away, trying to calm his breathing whilst trying not to trip over his own bumbling feet which seemed to get weaker with every passing second more blood seeped through his fingers. The hazel eyes regard the corpse lying on the floor before coming onto the injured culprit. The attacker springs forth and Carl, seeing how he lost his edge from the decline in blood, lazily stepping aside, barely managing to escape the man's grasp. He does not gain balance and falls to the ground, causing the pain to increase, however, with the pumping adrenaline, he continued on and rolled to his side as the older man brought his knife down on him. Realizing his advantage, Carl tries to position himself to have a clear aim.

The man comes to the conclusion too, quickly trying to over power Carl. The brunet tries to flee, but the man gets a hold, pressing down harshly on the slash on his shoulder and he can't help but let out a hoarse groan, the world seems to blur just a bit before the fear snaps him back into reality as he quickly fires the gun, the bullet struck against the other's foot and he let out a wretched scream, stumbling aback. Carl pulled the trigger again, but there wasn't another small round, but a soft click. Sitting up from his propped up arm, he steadily got up as the person before him whimpered from the bullet in his foot before regarding him, Carl hurried to the man, using his gun against the man's head. Watching the body go limp, Carl searched for his bag, leaving the storage and into the store's main room, finding it tossed carelessly onto the ground. Kneeling down, he winced before zipping open the bag, rifling through the contents, he found a few similar items, but he began to fret over not finding one in particular. Scrambling over things, his hands were met with nothing.

 _Where is it?, where is it?._

With shaky fingers, her lifted himself up, ignoring the sting it caused and walked back to the unconscious man and decided to quickly frisk him, still finding nothing of what he wanted. Carl had hit him hard enough to put him out, but it wouldn't have lasted long, so the boy waited, growing more agitated with every passing moment. Eventually the day had began to end, from the small window that once provided rays of light, now became dim, as the sun retreated beyond the horizon, the immobile man began to wake again. Before he could speak, Carl jammed his foot onto his torso, taking the air out of his lungs, " _Where is it?_."

There was only a confused face to answer his question; fuming with anger, Carl kicked the man's chin, " _The picture, where is it?_." Watching him recover, the boy stared silently with balled fists. The anger swelled up, Carl couldn't find it on the others, he bitterly relayed over the fact that it was gone. The blade only stood a few inches away and Carl swiftly lifted it from the ground and with out warning, brought it down on the latent body, completely unfazed by the screams and thrashing, over and over his arms came up and down until it finally stopped. Time seemed to slow down.

However long he had stayed there, kneeling over the deceased; he hadn't felt so empty. He just wanted to go home. Shivering, Carl did his best to be up on his feet again, he was almost certain that death would come for him now and for some reason, he was not off put by it. He took heavy and long steps until he reached the bag, pulling it by the straps and dragged it along.

Carl stared ahead as he walked. He had been like this for a while, for what seemed like days on end, from dawn till dusk. Completely and utterly zoned out from reality as he journeyed to nowhere. Even if his legs begged him to halt, even if they felt like twigs on the verge of snapping, he didn't stop.

 _He simply couldn't_. His head was empty, devoid of any thought, he could only keep walking along the street with the autumn leaves crunching under his feet.

He didn't know how long he was like this, since he had long abandoned trying to count. The only thing he could hold to was that day turned into night, or how the trees turned into houses, but, a single droplet of the cold rain brought him from his daze, shaking from the chill it sent up his spine, he looked at the streets now slowly becoming more soaked as the waterfall became heavier and heavier.

Carl wanted to stay out longer, continue trotting mindlessly down a road that seemed endless, but before he could push himself to, he begun to remember what his mother would say when she caught him outside running around and enjoying the rain as a downpour occurred.

He'd see her hands on her hips, shaking her head, but a smile on her lips, telling him he _'would get sick.'_

His eyes almost close shut as he tries to stop the tears from cascading down his face, he bites his trembling lip, as his mind showed her face, reminding him of another person he had lost. Sniffling, he wipes his running nose with his sleeve before deciding to take refuge in one of the nearby houses.

He chooses one that reminded him of the types of homes his mother talked about so dreamily before the whole world went to shit. It was the color blue, her favorite; even though the pavement began to sprout weeds and the grass had grown wildly, he could picture it standing beautifully in it's treated state.

It was something she would have wanted.

As the sky grew darker with the black clouds continuing to loom ahead, completely covering the once sunshine filled sky, he began to walk quickly down the pavement that lead to residence, he picks up a small light post placed in the ground, seizing it by the head and with a quick and hard jerk, he successfully removes it from the dirt.

Holding it by it's muddy handle, Carl walked up the steps, he stops once he gets to the last one, facing ahead of him was the metal door. He takes a deep breath before races to it in full speed, but on impact it didn't budge, instead it sent him to the ground. He lays there, resting his head on the porch's floor as he sighed.

" _Fuck_." Eventually, he gets up, and walks back to the door and fiddles with the knob, he scowls, silently chastising himself for not thinking straight and checking it first as the door opened.

To be fair though, _he wasn't thinking clearly these days anyway._

He could careless of the pain that continued to throb, he just wanted things to end and as he lay against the red cold surface of the door, his breathing slowing. As his line of sight begins to fade, the only thing that soothes him is the soft pattering of the rain hitting against the ground, a brisk breeze kissed against his skin. He sees their faces.

He wasn't reluctant anymore. However, his body begins to slide down as he feels the surface holding him up moving back and his body collides with the ground. Carl didn't exhaust himself over guessing if the person over him had any bad intent as his head clouded with pain.

The only thing he felt before he became numb was warm fingers and a female's shaken voice, "Elliot."


End file.
